


Phantoms

by keirajo



Series: The Prime and the Emperor [7]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Action/Adventure, Ancient History, Complicated Relationships, Danger, Drama, M/M, Politics, Relationships in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22267561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keirajo/pseuds/keirajo
Summary: The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place and Rodimus Prime makes a startling discovery about Cybertronian "pre-Transformer" history...…...…..
Relationships: Galvatron/Rodimus Prime, Rodimus Prime/Ultra Magnus
Series: The Prime and the Emperor [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1440979
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Phantoms

**Author's Note:**

> Health issues are currently preventing me from getting much done fast. Once issues have been resolved in one way or another, we'll try to get back on track with things. 
> 
> Next up should be the second part of my (*snicker*) Dark Megatron arc over in my IDW universe fics, "Corrosion".

**_ Phantoms _ **

Out in the far edges of the galaxy—the unincorporated areas, as listed by the Galactic Alliance, or often referred to as the “ _frontier_ ” by the laymen of the spacefaring peoples—things were happening that very few were aware of. A planet called Quar’tal was in a primitive stage of evolution—their people were hunter-gatherers, tall and vaguely anthropoid, with very long “ _satellite-dish_ ” shaped ears. They had a fine fur on their bodies, which they often used to sense their kind, emotions and intentions.

It was _almost like_ the Cybertronian EM field.

Which, as it turned out, was something Starscream chose to use and abuse when he planted his rooted Destron base on that planet five years ago.

They ingrained themselves on the planet for a year before interacting with the natives—as part of their great plan of conquer and enslavement. Starscream, Raj-ur-Malekk and the Destron command staff had created a great fiction for them—fitting the Destrons into the natives’ own legends of a “ _universe of gods_ ”. They became exiled Gods—and over the next four years, the Quar’talian natives came to adore their powerful Gods who came to live amongst them.

“Val, please explain that to me again?” Starscream asked, looking down at his native attendant.

“It predates all of our Gods, Lord Star. It is called _‘The Darkest One’_ ,” the male Quar’talian said, bowing his shoulders as he tried to follow the large robot around the corridors of Scorponok (known only to the natives as a Celestial Palace).

The Quar’talian natives were about half-the-size of the _normal-sized_ Cybertronians, which made them much taller than the organic species Starscream was most familiar with, across the universe. So, Val came up to about Starscream’s hip-plating.

“ _Ah_ , that would be why I don’t recognize it— _it predates us_ ,” the former Decepticon chuckled lightly. “Tell me more about this Darkest One. I feel as if it is something we must be aware of, if it troubles the mortals so much.”

The Quar’talian was very happy that Starscream seemed concerned about them, “ _the mortals_ ”, as all the Gods here in the Celestial Palace called them.

“There is not a lot of information, but it is the devourer of all light and life,” Val responded, dipping his shoulders as he practically ran to stay caught up with the Cybertronian he believed to be a God.

Starsceam rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. Surely they could not be thinking of _Unicron_ , could they? Unicron was destroyed, by that flame-colored mech and the Matrix of Leadership. If they were speaking of Unicron, he could tell them that the Chaos Bringer were destroyed and they wouldn’t have to worry about this “ _Darkest One_ ” any longer. But then, why would Unicron be called the “ _Chaos Bringer_ ” and this other force called the “ _Darkest One_ ”—Starscream had a hunch that whatever this “Darkest One” was, it was something **_like_** Unicron, but it was **_not_** Unicron.

“I will consult the Elder on this—he’s been around for much longer than I have, I am a younger God compared to him. He may have more information on this _‘Darkest One’_ ,” Starscream chuckled, finally coming to the main lobby area.

“Thank you, Lord Star,” Val responded. “It is said that the Gods will unite to defeat the Darkest One. Young Gods like yourself may be unaware of the Darkest One, so it would benefit you if your Elder has information to share,” the Quar’talian added. He turned and walked out of the Celestial Palace.

Now that Starscream was parted from his Quar’talian attendant, he went deeper into the corridors of Scorponok, looking for his Quintesson partner, Raj-ur-Malekk. As old as the ancient Quintesson was, perhaps he knew something more of this seemingly well-known galactic legend. It wasn’t the first time Starscream had heard the term “ _The Darkest One_ ” though—he’d heard it and read about it several times throughout his lifetime, but he had always dismissed it as one of those silly myths that species gave to something they never understood. To be honest, Starscream always thought it was something like a black hole or some other space phenomena that more primitive cultures could never understand.

“Starscream,” the Quintesson said, by way of greeting—never even looking up from what he was working on.

It was a replacement for Leozak. That had been the most difficult thing—to find a design and to make sure it would fit in with the Liokaiser gestalt. Raj-ur-Malekk had been spending the past five years crafting a superior specimen to take the place of the mech Starscream had tried to destroy—and basically just abandoned back on Chaar. The Quintesson biologist was still somewhat annoyed at Starscream for having done that, especially since his precious Alpha Predator Sharkticon went with Leozak.

“She looks good,” the former Decepticon responded, walking around to the opposite end of the crafting slab and looking over the bulky femme-like Transformer.

“I still cannot find a worthy crystal for her Spark-ignition,” Raj-ur-Malekk sighed softly. He dropped his utensils on the table next to him and backed away from the crafting slab.

“Yes. You’re still annoyed at me for Leozak. I get it,” Starscream groaned. “I made a mistake, I was angry and I just didn’t want to suffer a potential traitor right as we suffered a great defeat. It’s been five years, what’s done is done, okay?”

“I’m aware of that, Starscream. But I am annoyed that you will not allow me to interact with the Quar’talians,” the Quintesson said, his voice full of frustration.

“We all made that decision—we couldn’t figure out how to explain why you looked different, when we set up the story of being a clan of exiled Gods,” the red-and-blue Destron commander snapped back. “But you do have an important part in our story—you’re our mysterious Father, the honored Elder. We’re all young Gods acting under your tutelage.”

The Quintesson made a sound that Starscream wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

“She’s going to be made like a Cybertronian, though, isn’t she?” Starscream asked, trying to bring up a different subject. Despite the frustration at having to build her and that they couldn’t yet find a proper crystal for her Spark-ignition—Raj-ur-Malekk was incredibly happy with her design and Starscream knew that.

“Now that Wind Sheer’s shared the data with me of what you modern Cybertronians look like—yes, she’ll be designed more like the modern ones. Honestly, I can’t imagine what it must be like to have both the spike and the valve function—I would think it would be too stimulating to your systems,” Raj-ur-Malekk said, finally calming down a little bit. “You also have some different internal forms from the types when I was doing crafting back on Cybertron. When did data-interfacing come about for your species?” He hovered back over to the crafting slab and looked at his newest design and felt a small bit of excitement for how perfect she looked.

Like the others in the team, she was designed to have an assist mech, which was a sabertooth-tiger—it formed a shield on her chestplate or would be given another function she decided upon, once she lived. She had colors of purple and black, with some vanity markings resembling tiger stripes on her forearm gauntlets and boots that were a vivid green (meant to glow-in-the-dark). Unlike the modern femmes of Cybertronian descent, she was not slender, but her armour fit had the high chest-cut and low waist-cut. She was designed to be a heavy fighter—thus her alt mode was a tank. And she would be programmed to be a very dominant leader for the gestalt team—because, if anything, someone needed to keep Hellbat and Jaruga in line.

“It was never intended to be a recreational thing, but people just made it like that,” Starscream sighed. “Medics need the dataports to check systems and make sure mechs and femmes have functioning protocols and programs. However, others found they could use it to play with others a bit more or to fully dominate them.”

“Just as interfacing became recreational and not a function to perform for creating offspring,” Raj-ur-Malekk said, gazing firmly at Starscream.

“Well, yes, of course **_that_** ,” the red-and-blue mech scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I came here to ask you something. The Quar’talian that attends me insisted on educating me on the apocalypse today, he brought up a name—or term—that I’ve seen or heard referenced in many of my long years of life, but he seems extremely concerned about it.”

“ _The Darkest One_ ,” the Quintesson biologist chuckled. “Tell me, have they mentioned the dark priest yet? His arcane ritual to raise the God of All Destruction from his slumber?” He chortled, waving his two tentacle arms in gestures that would normally mean one was making fun of something.

“I take it you’ve heard the legends…….?” Starscream asked, suddenly laser-focused on them.

“Oh, **_yes_**. It was a Quintesson who ignited them anyways. Kila-il-Lairn was a bizarre one, who wanted to create a dark new universe, so he thought he could tap into the source energy and remake it all to his whim,” Raj-ur-Malekk chuckled. “This was just as we were developing Cybertron, we’d just started designing the prototypes that would be your ancestors. Kila-il-Lairn also was somewhat responsible for how Unicron came about and that is a far longer story than the rumours you’ve heard of this Primacron fellow and all of that nonsense.”

“Unicron was the failure from trying to summon this Darkest One?” Starscream asked, following the lightly alluded to tale of things. 

“ _Oh, indeed, yes!_ But it isn’t to say Unicron wasn’t rather magnificent on his own,” Raj-ur-Malekk chuckled, a sound of fondness in his voice.

“Did this Primacron really create Unicron?” The Destron commander inquired, tilting his head curiously.

“ _Of course not_. He’d like to think he had,” the Quintesson biologist scoffed. “That was why he kept tinkering with things he should never have messed with and deserved the ending he got.”

“You **_are_** a strange one, you know that, right?” Starscream said, frowning. Even after all these years, he still didn’t understand his erstwhile Quintesson partner in all things Destron.

“When you are about to undertake an adventure to build something new—you should know what you are doing about it before completing it,” Raj-ur-Malekk said, his voice sounding very derogatory towards this Primacron person/creature, whomever he really was. “If you don’t do the proper research into your task, you’re bound to fail—that’s why you should never rush into anything.”

“Tell me, have **_you_** ever failed?” Starscream asked, wondering why he was suddenly getting a very anxious/angry feeling swirling around the Quintesson’s being. It was strange, he’d never gotten a sense of any emotion from the Quintesson before, besides fury, and for that kind of anger, his other mask snapped into place as well.

“ _Once_. But I learned my lesson,” Raj-ur-Malekk responded, a tentacle going up to rub the back of his dented helm area. “ _Listen_. Whatever you plan to do in life, you need to plan it and to view the potential negative outcomes before activating your plan. There’s still a factor of failure, no matter how well you plan and that goes in favor of the whims of chaos.” The Quintesson raised his tentacles in a gesture of peace and calming. “Chaos is the dominant force of the universe. You can never fight against it, because it will create things to block you from fighting it—Galvatron is the most perfect example of that. Unicron recrafted that mech you despise into Galvatron to act as an agent for him, because apparently Unicron got very lazy in his old age. When Chaos tries to create Chaos, only one part of that Chaos will survive—Unicron created his own destruction when he created Galvatron.”

Starscream raised a servo, to protest that it was Hot Rod— _Rodimus Prime_ —who destroyed Unicron with the Matrix of Leadership, but then Raj-ur-Malekk whipped a tentacle at him to stop him from saying such a thing.

“Did you not just hear what I said? About planning?” The Quintesson snapped. “The Matrix of Leadership planned for an advancement of Chaos—it planned for Galvatron by creating the flame-colored mech. It created a match for Chaos, to blunt it as it swept across the universe in a new form.”

“But………..the timeline doesn’t match in any way whatsoever,” Starscream whined, waving his servos in frustration.

“Chaos has no understanding of time or timelines. The Matrix of Leadership—the brain of the Alpha Sentinel—had made long-term strategic plans to try and combat an aberration in Chaos. This is why your plans need to have multiple intercept points for events you aren’t quite anticipating,” the Quintesson biologist said with a deep sigh.

“Nobody can possibly think of everything— _even if you’re a God_ ,” the Destron commander said with a frown on his faceplate. “And isn’t _‘Order’_ what everyone wants?” He wasn’t even going to go ask about this Alpha Sentinel thing, he had a feeling he knew what it was and didn’t like the ramifications of that.

“ ** _ORDER_** is a myth. There is **_Chaos_** and Chaos can sometimes be recognized as what you may call _‘Order’_ ,” Raj-ur-Malekk explained, waving his tentacles dismissively. “Chaos was where the universe began, it is how it grows and how it will end and be born again.”

Just when he thought that the old Quintesson’s philosophies couldn’t get any stranger or more convoluted—sure enough, they did!

“Should we worry about this _‘Darkest One’_ then?” Starscream asked, uncertain he’d like any answer he’d get from his odd partner at this point.

“If the Darkest One is here, then it means **_rebirth_**. We may all die or we may all be reformatted into new lives—no one stands a chance of fighting it, _you cannot fight Chaos_ ,” the Quintesson answered, as simply as he could. This was a conversation clearly far above Starscream’s thoughts and rationale, so he wanted to ensure the ending of the conversation as soon as possible, so that he might get back to work on the new femme.

* * * * *

“I _don’t want_ to go for a drive, Rodimus,” Kicker pouted as the two exited Metroplex and stood outside in the crisp morning air of the mountain range.

“Before I take you back to Athenia, we’re going to go over your internship,” the young Autobot Leader responded, transforming into his vehicle mode and sliding back his top hatch/hood.

Kicker grumbled and reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat, since he didn’t have his driver’s license quite yet. As soon as Rodimus force-snapped the seatbelt over the young human male’s chest and lap, he activated his driving hologram and Kicker let out a roar of laughter.

“Rodimus—what the heck is **_this_**?!” The teenage boy snorted, placing a hand over his chest and trying to regain his breath after laughing so hard.

“The Autobots on Earth are supposed to go out driving with holographic drivers in the driver’s seat, if a human’s not there,” Rodimus Prime said, firmly. “Apparently, even though you humans know about us, it is still unnerving to see a driverless vehicle. The United States actually passed it as a law four years ago.”

“Yeah, but…………..can’t you try and _not_ look like an anime character?” The boy chortled, reaching a hand over and waving it through the hologram, snickering as it disrupted the holographic field into pixels and static.

“ _Excuse me, none of us are as good at holographic detail as Hound was!_ ” Rodimus groaned. “Look, there’s just a set of parameters that Teletraan II created for the holographic driver system. It’s basically making use of your human CGI animation technology through holographic projectors. The drivers use our color schemes and a few choice data points we give to it—such as a gender and skin color, which is usually based on the dominant skintone of the area that we’re in.”

“That’s why your hair is red with yellow streaks?” Kicker snorted, still highly amused by the holographic driver system figure in the driver’s seat.

“Yes, _that’s why_ the hair is red with yellow streaks. That’s why I’m wearing a weird, anime-version’s Chinese-style set of clothing and that’s why my eyes are such a bright blue, **_thank you_** ,” Rodimus responded, very dryly. “Look, at least I got the program to put my hair back in a ponytail. It looked a lot more fake when it was hanging loose. My holographic driver in my Hot Rod form is _much cooler-looking_!” He laughed.

“Why don’t you use _that_?” Kicker asked, curiously, waving his hand through the holographic image again, chuckling as the pixels splintered more.

“Would you quit doing that?” Rodimus groaned, the holographic head of the driver turning to glare at the human teenage boy. “ _I can’t_. I told you, set parameters that are defined by our own personal programs. Some of my programs and protocols are different as Hot Rod—it affects things such as why I have a different alt mode and, yes, the holographic driver system.”

“I can’t believe the U.S. passed such a law. I mean, they’ve been trying to do those driverless car systems for a couple years now and they won’t let Autobots drive without a holographic driving projection—come on, you can’t tell me _that’s_ not ridiculous?” Kicker scoffed, leaning back into his seat as Rodimus backed out of the “ _parking space_ ” he was in, on Metroplex’s landing platform and headed on out to the mountain roads.

“You humans are weird enough on your own, don’t ask me to interpret human things for you!” Rodimus laughed warmly. The holographic image of the driver looked as if he were focused on the road, but the onboard dash-panel’s camera-eye had a focus on Kicker in the passenger side. “We auto-drive anyways, when we’re on roads we’re familiar with, so it’s _exactly_ like that driverless system you humans are trying to create.”

“Flaunt the law, but follow it. Yep, that’s what my dad does, _all the time_ ,” the teenage boy chuckled warmly. “So, spit it out………’kay? Do I get to go along with you or not?” He asked, leaning forwards and straining against the seatbelt as he looked into the dash-panel’s camera-eye.

“I said we’re going to **_talk_** about it—and that means we’re going to talk very seriously, all right, Kicker?” Rodimus Prime said, his voice very serious. “I like you humans— _I like you all a lot_. I got to be part of raising one and _that’s_ precious to me. But the part of me that’s a parent worries at how dangerous travelling with me can be. Selfishly, I took Stormbreaker with me, but she has those who will protect her without a second thought………..including myself.”

Rodimus paused, but his dash-panel flashed with muted lighting.

“You just had a very, _very_ small taste of something unexpected and dangerous that could happen while travelling with me—and this is why I want to wait until you are eighteen, so that you can make your own honest and adult decision to do this,” the flame-colored mech continued as he drove along familiar side roads in the mountain range area.

“I _do_ know that’s why, Rodimus………but no matter how old I am, my parents and sister will worry about me anyways,” Kicker said, very softly. He resolved to be serious about this, because he really did want to travel with Rodimus Prime and his crew.

“At the age of eighteen, the law cannot determine the choice you make with your own life—unless your choices are criminal ones. Right now, while you are still _legally considered a minor_ —all responsibility for your well-being falls to your parents or guardians,” the young Autobot Leader said, showing he was fully aware of human laws and customs where it was determined as Kicker Jones’ legal birthplace in the United States of America, in Portland of the state of Oregon. “It would be a far-reaching political firestorm if something happened to you, under my care, while you are _still a minor_ , Kicker.”

Kicker suddenly felt a pang of regret deep inside of him. He had never thought of that. He thought about the legality angle, but not what it meant to human-Transformer relations………….he thought it only meant that his parents might blame Rodimus if something happened to him.

“There are many politically-charged things that the United States government has been unhappy with me, personally, for—the chemical armour from Pulsar Tech is a big one of those. It was a massive slam to the government and the military and they never forgave me for slapping it out there into social media circles, since over two years of legal battles were getting me nowhere in getting our beloveds’ bodies back from the thieves at Pulsar Tech,” the flame-colored mech continued. “You’re too young to know much about that, but it’s an important moment in relations between our species. Other world governments have offered to shelter Metroplex and create an embassy for the Autobots in their countries for many years now, but the United States took a terrible gamble and lost face. They know that if they lost the Autobot alliance, those repercussions could weaken their standing with other world governments, they truly know that—however, they would pounce eagerly on something that would make me pay for what happened back then. If a young human were hurt while under my supervision, they will crucify me and at that point I would have to make the choice whether to withdraw all Cybertronian alliance from Earth forever, or to move Metroplex and our Autobots to another, more welcoming country.”

Kicker made a small sound. He never realized it was _that bad_.

“Politics are terrible and I hate them, it’s a dance where if you misstep— _it could cost you everything_ ,” Rodimus Prime continued. “That’s why I have hired lawyers here on Earth. That’s why I try to foster the alliances with the humans as best as I can. **_And_** ……….that is also why I sponsored the Earth into the Galactic Alliance. But you humans are a _very young species_ , especially compared to many other races in the Galactic Alliance—and while Cybertron suffered in standing with them from the Autobot and Decepticon war, the worlds of the Alliance would support Cybertron over Earth if it came to a conflict where we have to part ways.”

“Okay. _I can wait_. It’s………..it’s just like two years-ish,” Kicker responded quietly.

“I’m **_not_** trying to dissuade you from doing it entirely, Kicker. I just want you to understand I’m not trying to tell you _‘no’_. I’m just asking you to wait until you can make that decision for yourself, without it costing any of us a terrible price should the worst happen,” the flame-colored mech sighed. “I like you. Storm likes you. And even the other members of my crew like you. You’re going to be very welcome with us one day, when the time is right.”

“What about if Vector Sigma needs me for that _‘big thing’_ sooner than that, though?” The teenager asked, frowning as he let all of it settle within him.

“That will be a very difficult call. I’m going to hope that time will be on our side and wait for you to have the chance to make the choice to stand with us,” Rodimus responded, a deep sigh in his voice. “As to how things went on your internship—I was ninety-eight percent happy with how everything went and your decisions. The other two percent I believe you know what _that’s_ for and why I’d be unhappy with the risks you took, given everything I just told you.”

Kicker nodded, knowing Rodimus could see the gesture with his dash-panel camera-eye—he didn’t have to verbally respond to the small admonishment.

“Besides the reason of waiting until you’re an adult, I do understand that most humans tend to finish their growth cycles by the time they are seventeen or eighteen. Some may still grow until they’re twenty or so. But, for now, a few more years will give your father opportunity to adjust your exo-suit if it needs it. Plus, I would very much like you to learn how to maintain your exo-suit more than just general standard repairs,” Rodimus Prime continued, his voice firm. “When you’re finally able to come with us, we won’t be rushing back here as needed to have your father or Spike make repairs on your exo-suit. So, I want you to learn how to fix it……how to adjust it……..and how to repair it. Is that a deal, Kicker?” He asked.

“Yeah. _Heh_ ………that totally never occurred to me. You’re right, I should try to learn at least that much,” the human male laughed softly. This talk hadn’t been so much the evaluation itself, but more or less that Rodimus Prime was explaining all the reasons and details why Kicker couldn’t join up with his crew any sooner than the age of 18. And the teenage boy finally understood that the flame-colored mech wasn’t trying to be mean or to discourage Kicker from this path, but to make sure that personal responsibility would be taken for his own life—and he needed to be a legal adult for that. Knowing now that Rodimus had been treading a fine line politically really hit home for Kicker. “Hey, do I get to keep my room on the _Arrowshot_ , though?” He asked.

“Of course. That’s _your room_ now. I’ll look into getting you some more human-sized furniture and such for the room and when you move in, you can personalize it a little more if you like, to be your home away from home,” the young Autobot Leader answered. He turned back onto the path heading for Metroplex once more. “I’ll take you back to Athenia the day after tomorrow, so why don’t you do something with Stormbreaker tomorrow—maybe take her and the Mini-Cons to an amusement park or something?”

“How about a museum tour? The Mini-Cons haven’t seen a lot of Earth culture—maybe Firedrive and his friends would like to come along, too?” Kicker said, helpfully.

“That sounds very nice, Kicker. I’ll send Bumblebee along with you all—he’s well-known in Portland and humans are very fond of him,” the flame-colored mech added. “Thank you for keeping my femmeling occupied for at least one more day. She really enjoys your company.”

“She’s adorable, it’s no problem, Rodimus,” Kicker laughed warmly.

* * * * *

“You’re not calling it a day already, _come on_ ,” Hardhead snapped, gripping Flamewar’s elbow-joint and taking her back to the tarp-covered area. “I also know you’re not really tired of this, you’re enjoying yourself, so please—stop trying to dally.”

“You’re so stuffy, Hardhead, _come oooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn_!!!” The femme whined, her red-and-black armour gleaming, even here out in the dust-stormy Rust Sea.

“I think I’ve found………… _something_ ……….down here!” Ultra Magnus called, from down in the hole that they drilled in the rust-dust and worn old metal surface of Cybertron.

Flamewar flashed a big grin at the green-and-grey mech holding onto her elbow-joint and then hopped down into the hole with a whoop of excitement. Hardhead was right, though, searching for this gestalt—in a place she long ago used to research with her companions—she **_was_** enjoying it. It reminded her of a time before the Robo-Smasher changed her coding and her life.

“It’s definitely something. Is it a sword?” Flamewar murmured, brushing the pommel portion that one could see emerged from the ancient debris. “The pommel is larger than what a normal Cybertronian can hold—it must be made for a gestalt. Maybe we’re getting closer?” She said, softly, taking a chipper-tool and striking lightly around the buried portions of the pommel. “Yeah, this is a very big sword, too—it’s definitely not for the hands of a large Transformer even, it _has_ to be for a gestalt or a titan.”

The femme knelt down with a brush and her chipper-tool and began to chip away at more around the pommel of what might likely be some kind of giant sword. Ultra Magnus could see her care and her precision on doing so and thought more about what she had been, long before she had been a Decepticon or even a Destron. He and Hardhead clearly had both wanted to ask about the Robo-Smasher and what it did to her and others, but neither wanted to bring it up and upset her.

“You know, you may as well ask me,” Flamewar sighed, standing up and folding her arms over her chest, looking at the two Autobot soldiers.

“It’s about the Robo-Smasher. Neither of us know much about it, except its reputation,” Hardhead responded, placing his servos on his hips.

“Once your coding was changed, it couldn’t be changed back,” Flamewar said. “Megatron basically used the Science Institute as his testing ground. That’s why the Decepticons suddenly had hundreds of scientists among them. Most of us would _never_ willingly have joined Megatron, but afterwards we had no choice, really—our program told us to fight and that’s what the Decepticons made us do.”

“Rodimus understands that, though— _the programming needs_ ,” Ultra Magnus said. “He’s doing what he can to make life accessible to both sides without resorting to war to satisfy the needs of the Decepticons.”

“Well. I hope he can do it,” Flamewar said with a shrug. “You should know, though—Starscream did honestly get the worst of it. He was sparkbroken when he returned to Cybertron and the Science Institute, _he had just lost Skyfire_ ………….and Megatron did more than just sic the Robo-Smasher on him. Megatron liked to make a bad situation worse and he **_reveled_** in it.”

“Yes, Rodimus is aware of that, as well,” Magnus said with a sigh.

“And I’m getting anxious without being able to fight things,” Flamewar pouted.

“ _Well_. I’ll make things enjoyable for you later, then,” Hardhead chuckled. “But we’re making progress here, let’s see if we can get this sword out of the ground.”

Ultra Magnus had to admit, Flamewar had become more tolerable lately. As Rodimus had explained the basic drives and needs of the “ _consumer goods_ ” programming and the “ _military hardware_ ” programming, the old Autobot soldier began to understand the people around him even more than ever before. Hardhead had intuitively adjusted to his sudden role of “ _babysitter_ ” and frag-buddy, so Flamewar had settled down more—her needs were being seen to, her programming was being fulfilled. Hardhead also sparred with her, very often, so her need to fight was satisfied as well. They were now able to get a lot of pretty good days worth of work out of her, instead of one day a week before she pouted and became completely uncooperative.

The three of them worked, but as hard as they worked, they could only get about half of the sword uncovered.

“Do you think we might be close to finding this gestalt?” Hardhead asked, standing next to Ultra Magnus with his arms crossed over his chest, while Flamewar wiped off some dirt from her arms before them.

“ _Maybe_. It depends, though—if this is the gestalt’s sword and not the sword of someone else they may have been fighting,” the red-and-black colored femme sighed, shrugging. She grinned and walked up to the green-and-grey Autobot soldier and pushed on his shoulder, trying to push him away from Ultra Magnus. “Fight and a frag now, you promised— _let’s go_!” Flamewar laughed.

It went without mentioning that she’d be put back into her cell once the two of them were done with those particular activities. She had to work hard to earn any kind of freedom, given everything she’d done. But she had settled down into doing this fairly well and despite the changes to her coding to make her a “ _Decepticon_ ”, she still had the desire and skill for archaeology within her programming, as well. Flamewar really was enjoying this searching for a secret in the depths of the Rust Sea.

As soon as Hardhead and Flamewar went off somewhere, Ultra Magnus summoned a security detail to come and guard the sword. As soon as he worked out the shifts for the guards, he transformed into his alt mode and went back to Iacon. As soon as he returned to his office, after taking a shower in his personal washrack, the Autobots’ Second-in-Command sent an i-mail message to Rodimus Prime about the finding of the day and that it might actually be some sort of progress.

Then he started writing a report and was about halfway through it when he got an i-mail response back from the young Prime. It was professional only in the first paragraph, then was jovial and informal as ever. But informality was Rodimus Prime’s charm to everyone who’d ever known the flame-colored mech. Rodimus was pleased that it looked like there might finally be a light at the end of the tunnel for that part of things, since Vector Sigma inquired about it consistently.

It really did make Ultra Magnus wonder why _this particular gestalt_ was so important, though.

Then there was a communications’ ping on his screen and he saw that Rodimus wanted to actually speak with him.

“ _Okay_ , so, Magnus. I finally got a response on the IGBB about looking for a Quintesson,” Rodimus said, giving a deep sigh. “I mean, it was a long shot that I’d get an answer, but I figured the Quintessons had their tentacles in a lot of intergalactic stuff,” he added.

“I’m glad it panned out,” Ultra Magnus answered, but then tilted his head, puzzled at Rodimus—who looked very fidgety on the screen. “What’s wrong?” He asked, kindness in his voice.

“I’m not sure I like the price and I _definitely_ can’t tell Galvatron what they want, but………….Stormbreaker says that as long as all they do is look and not touch, she’s okay with it…………..” Rodimus trailed off. “This Quintesson wants to see Storm. Pure scientific curiosity, they say…………” the flame-colored mech mumbled. “Plus about thirty-thousand shanix, I mean it’s nineteen-thousand in intergalactic currency, but…………. ** _ugh_**!”

“Look somewhere else, then. It’s too high a price,” Magnus responded with a deep frown.

“Magnus—it’s the _ONLY_ response I’ve gotten,” Rodimus Prime whined softly.

“Then wait a bit longer, it’s barely been two weeks,” the old soldier admonished. “Within the decade, remember—you don’t need to rush this,” he added.

“I’ll have to spend more money to re-post the BB advertisement,” the flame-colored mech mumbled. “And keep reposting if I don’t accept someone’s response.”

Ultra Magnus sighed, clearly Rodimus Prime was going to go with this very uncomfortable response, even though he was complaining about it. He started looking at financial accounts to see if the money could be taken from anywhere without issue, because he knew that the young Autobot Leader would take it out of his own personal account if he had to—and he really shouldn’t have to.

“I think I can get together the funds, but you need to be careful—especially if they’re making Stormbreaker a key point of the meeting,” the Autobots’ Second-in-Command said, looking at Rodimus’ image on the screen before him.

“Oh, don’t worry, this meeting is not happening without Sixshot in the room—and I don’t care what units of Sharkticons this Quint may have with ‘em, there are few people who can go against Sixshot,” Rodimus chuckled, warmly.

* * * * *

“Frankly, I am rather surprised to see the Autobot Leader chasing phantoms,” the Quintesson chuckled as they all met in a neutral zone, on a small, empty planetoid. “Come, we will be more comfortable inside.”

The Quintesson had a small base on this planetoid. The thing that surprised Rodimus was—this wasn’t one of the types they generally associated with the “ _scientist_ ” arm of the Quintesson race. This one was one of the simple-looking, five plainly visual masks on it, the ones they’d come to associate with “ _judges_ ”. Rodimus Prime’s crew had done a scan and there really was not much in the way of life-forms in the small base, either—which was the only reason he felt safe enough to enter the base with Stormbreaker in his arms and Sixshot right behind him. There was a typical corkscrew Quintesson craft lodged in the ground near the base, but it didn’t look as if this Quintesson did much travelling.

“You seem rather odd for a Quint,” Rodimus commented in return as they walked down a long corridor.

A couple of small Sharkticons quibbled over food or an object or something, as they passed—and the Quintesson reached out to smack them both with tentacles and a harsh guttural sound that could only be ancient Cybertronian.

“Point taken, then,” the Quintesson chuckled. “To be honest, I always felt that history _should not_ be forgotten and you are seeking history. I can empathize with that.”

“I don’t think it should ever have been forgotten,” Rodimus muttered, shaking his head. “You okay, Storm?” He murmured softly, kissing the side of her helm lightly.

“ _Mmmm_. Those Sharkticons are funny, not like Rawjaw,” the femmeling said, a soft giggle in her voice.

“ _Oh?_ You have actually interacted with the old two-mask?” The Quintesson laughed. “I will admit, his Alpha Predator Sharkticon is a work of art, but I cannot imagine it would be easy taking care of something like that. My little pets are barely manageable on their own, but they have their uses and they keep me company.”

They entered a large room and there were two higher-level Sharkticon guards working at monitors in the room. But after knowing Rawjaw—those two guards were still very simple and probably only knew what they were doing by having done it repetitively over many decades.

“Rawjaw left Raj-ur-Malekk,” Rodimus Prime said, wondering how the Quintesson didn’t know that information.

All of the sudden, the Quintesson roared with laughter. “ _Ah_ , the two-mask completely forgot why we should not have given minds and free will to slaves! No offense, Autobot Leader—it is simply a statement of fact,” it responded, turning to them and waving a couple tentacles. “So, allow me to see your little offspring—and as promised, no touching,” the Quintesson chuckled.

“Why are you so curious about her?” Rodimus Prime asked, setting his daughter down and kneeling behind her to stay close.

“You do know we had wanted your species to be able to do this, correct? I am curious to see how such a thing truly turned out,” it answered, waving a tentacle dismissively at the young Autobot Leader. “A _female_? **_Curious_**. I wonder what would determine such a thing? How old are you, young one?” The Quintesson asked, softly.

“ _I’m seven!_ ” Stormbreaker said, proudly. “ _Galvatron’s my sire! He’s the best!_ ”

“I imagine so,” the Quintesson chuckled. “Autobot Leader, how did the two of you manage to do this?” It asked, turning its attention to the flame-colored mech.

“Unicron knew what the original programs and protocols were when he reformatted Galvatron. He reinstalled them. Then the Matrix did the same to me. Since we both had the programs and protocols now, we were compatible to do it…………but you Quintessons didn’t understand that a Spark-bonding needed to happen to ignite a newspark,” Rodimus explained. It wasn’t anything that wasn’t already known—he’d spoken about it to many sources. Including on intergalactic television.

“ _Ah-ha!_ **_That_** would make sense. Igniting a newspark was always the trickiest part, using your own Sparks to ignite one makes perfect sense, it would be in the coding,” the Quintesson responded, twisting a couple tentacles together delightfully. “You do realize that the point of newmechs born like this was more than to just save costs, correct? I think everyone has assumed we would do this purely for a financial value. But these kinds of newmechs have something you all do not—an adaptable frame. Their frames are growing, constantly—their self-repair nanites are parts of their frame, not additives to their frame. Something like this would allow your species to repair yourselves better if your frames were already designed for it.”

Rodimus tilted his head curiously. The Quintesson was saying something that was bordering on a near immortality. If the frames were always growing and fixing themselves, then surgeries would be less necessary to extend the sparklings’ lives if age-worn components needed replacing.

“Back on Cybertron, there were two lines of……….well, **_politics_** I suppose you may say,” the Quintesson began, motioning to a seating area so everyone could settle down comfortably. And after checking for traps on the chairs, much to the amusement of the Quintesson, Sixshot allowed everyone to sit down. “When we created your species, it was meant to be the height of our craft. We all worked together to build Cybertron—or as you may know him by Primus or the Alpha Sentinel—at that time, politics were not involved and the craft was the thing. He is far from perfect, our first creation—he has the higher A.I. we programmed into all of you, but his is not as adaptive as your programs are. Your programs were all meant to evolve and for you to seek to adapt to the situations your new owners might put you in—and, yes, you were all ever intended simply to make us money, we cannot deny that.”

“ _But……. **wait**_ **.** If Primus was able to give our programs that adaptability down the line, why couldn’t he add such things to his own programming?” Rodimus Prime said, frowning deeply as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Can you give your own program some additive elements? No, it clearly took the Matrix to do so to your systems, did it not?” The Quintesson answered with something of a derisive snort. “But the politics. There were many who wanted to keep your programs simple and cut costs with a set line of program codes inserted to each frame. However, others pointed out how this would make product susceptible to failure on down the line. If the products could not adapt to understand the demands of their owners, they were nothing more than mere automatons—and the universe already had those. We were creating something new, which we wanted to make just enough quality to make them unique and appealing for purchase.”

“Competition for product,” Sixshot responded, nodding as he leaned forwards on the table.

Stormbreaker was already 1000% bored by all the “ _big talk_ ” and was playing a game on her datapad, humming lightly to herself.

“It is not that your child is not charming, but looking at what we _wanted_ to do and what the result could have been—I am not certain we would have really wanted to have you bear offspring in the end. It was far easier to have you all programmed as fully functional adult mechanisms,” the Quintesson said with a brief glance at the bored little femmeling. “However, the idea of the integrated self-healing nanite system is something that is very much a desired trait. So, sparklings may have had their uses if things had succeeded, but I am fairly certain my fellows and I would never have been able to bear the childhood of an entire species.”

“I adore my children and if Starscream stops being a pest, I’d like to have more of them,” Rodimus chuckled, reaching over and rubbing Stormbreaker’s helm fondly. She purred happily, but kept her optics focused on her game.

“ _Ah. Yes_. The point of why you came looking for a Quintesson that would speak to you,” the old one chuckled. “There are a few of us very old ones that do not have the drive to pursue what the young ones do. We do like making money, but there are plenty of ways to get a lot of money without fleecing everyone around you. If you burn too many bridges, you will find yourself stuck on an island.”

“So, the young ones hate us on pure principle and you old ones………?” Sixshot trailed off, curious at the turn of the conversation and what the old Quintesson was implying.

“We made massive mistakes on Cybertron, we all accept that and have moved on in the universe,” it answered, waving a few tentacles in a dismissive kind of gesture. “Cybertron was a planet we created to replace the original Quintessa.”

Rodimus Prime’s optics brightened with great interest. He had known that the Quintessons, scattered across the universe, had named numerous planets they were attached to as “ _Quintessa_ ”—some also given a number. He thought it was more of an ego thing—name a planet after their species—but now to hear that there was originally a Quintessa to start with, it made a lot of things make more sense.

“We created a planet that would be our partner and our home and our factory—Cybertron, or, as we called him _‘Prime’_ , was meant to be more than just a place to live and work. But, as I said—politics began to divide us. And much of it centered around the worship of the force that destroyed Quintessa— _the Darkest One_ ,” the Quintesson said, giving a very deep sigh. Its masks cycled around several times, as if seeking one to voice the emotions that were deep within it. But without a mask to truly replicate the emotion, it settled back upon the Mask of Rationality. “The young ones scoff at the Darkest One, but it is a real and true force. Twins—which are near impossible in our species—had once tried to forge a plan to tame the Darkest One.”

“How do you……..?” Sixshot began, but the glare from the Quintesson made him go silent.

“The Council of Five at the time denied them their plans, as it would have had the essence of the Darkest One enter the program of Prime. They thought to trap the entity within the program of the planet we created, then they would harness its unlimited energy for all eternity,” the Quintesson explained, waving a couple tentacles in a random motion.

“Bora-il-Kalen and Kila-il-Lairn,” Rodimus said, remembering the names that Vector Sigma gave him.

“Ah, so the Master Programmer gave you their actual names,” the old Quintesson chuckled. “Well, data was gathered and Bora-il-Kalen had discovered that if the Darkest One had been trapped within Prime’s program—it would’ve corrupted all the data of the product we were creating, your predecessors. However, Kila-il-Lairn had already been consumed by the Darkest One’s touch and had raised a small group of radicals who were incensed upon trying to bring the Darkest One into Prime’s core. Bora-il-Kalen and some of his apprentices had crafted a special team meant to fight the Darkest One’s advance, I believe you call them _‘gestalts’_ , we called them _‘Gamma Sentinels’_.”

“But how could a gestalt fight something akin to a god?” The young Autobot Leader asked, absolutely enthralled by this deep past of Cybertron no one else had ever known, except the Quintessons. Perhaps Vector Sigma, as well, but it never talked of the past and what it said was veiled and mysterious—only the Matrix of Leadership had ever made history coherent to Rodimus Prime.

“ _Their sword_ , the ultimate in craftsmanship, was made of a material that was the only metal that could pierce and slay the formless Darkest One—the last of the most precious of all metals that existed on Quintessa. That was why it destroyed Quintessa, because the only thing that could harm it was there on that world,” the old Quintesson sighed. “Kila-il-Lairn killed Bora-il-Kalen and the ceremony to bring the Darkest One into Prime’s core was disrupted—that old one lost over half of its masks and retreated far out into space.”

_It couldn’t be a coincidence._

_**It just couldn’t be……….!**_

“I see it dawning in your optics, Autobot Leader—you know who Kila-il-Lairn is now, do you not? They are an old and cranky one, but it still lives yet today. I have no doubt that they have been waiting and planning for millennia to bring the Darkest One back to Cybertron and fulfill the desire they once had as a youth,” the old Quintesson said with a deep sigh.

“ _Raj-ur-Malekk_ ………….” Rodimus Prime whispered, burying his face in his palms and realizing that even Starscream may have no idea what his Quintesson partner had been planning all these years as they had built up all of the Destron forces together.  
  


* * * * *

Riled up by everything the old Quintesson gave him, the new pieces of history he now had for Cybertron and the “ _pre-history_ ” of the Transformer race—Rodimus Prime knew he couldn’t go back to Cybertron in **_this state_**. Ultra Magnus would have no idea how to handle this strangeness and energy in his young leader— _only Galvatron could_. Rodimus didn’t want to ruin or disrupt his beginning relationship with his Second-in-Command, not quite yet while they hadn’t been together all that long, only a couple years, and certainly not with a blatant need for being dominated and roughness. He sent the crew of the Arrowshot on to Chaar and waited for his lover on the empty, dusty third planet of Chaar’s system.

Of course, he got an “ _I am busy, foolish Prime!_ ” response by way of glyph message from the powerful Decepticon Leader. But the flame-colored mech would wait and stew in his own excitement and odd kind of anxiety.

_‘It must be the Trylians, or else Galvatron would’ve invited me to the fight were it Starscream or his Destrons,’_ Rodimus thought as he paced a rut in the area where he was waiting.

Galvatron finally arrived and was immediately pinned to the ground, Rodimus Prime’s EM field was a storm all around them. He had only seen his young Prime in such a riled state very few times—and while this was not a precarious situation as his anxiety could make him, it was nonetheless a dangerous situation. The flame-colored mech’s blue optic glass was lit by a fierce glow from within the optic orbs and there was a fierce set to his facial expression.

The powerful Emperor of the Decepticons knew he didn’t have to hold back—nay, holding back would only upset his rival and lover right now. He grinned and raised a pede, kicking hard and sending the flame-colored mech flying back into a massive tower-rock feature of the planet. The density of the planet was strong, so the rock only cracked and a little bit of debris scattered from it. He had no idea what it was that had Rodimus Prime so incensed, but he would thoroughly take advantage of it.

Rodimus’ fighting was fierce today, it was one of the best moments of sparring they’d had together in the last few years—the flame-colored mech’s combat instincts were intense and sharp. Galvatron reveled in it and knew they’d have a good, hot frag afterwards.

They threw each other into rocks, into the ground. Exchange of firepower was given and taunts were thrown around. Eventually, Rodimus Prime had pulled a new trick and pinned Galvatron to the ground again and then dropped on top of him, incycling and exventing hard. The Decepticon Leader knew the sparring was done and now was the brief wind-down, he slid a servo over his younger lover’s aft and sprawled his other arm up over his head in the dusty ground. His own engines roared, then rumbled and finally purred as they settled down to normal.

“Something bothers you, my Prime?” Galvatron finally asked, as they laid there quietly, EM fields pressed lightly against one another, even as their frames were.

“Bother? _Oh nonononono………..there’s nothing bothering me………!_ ” Rodimus Prime grumbled softly. “ _Gah_ , history is such a mess—no wonder nobody ever felt like chronicling it and just buried it instead!”

“Then why must you bother uncovering it, if it upsets you so much like this? History should be chronicled so we do not make the mistakes we made then, but it should never make you a mess as it seems to be doing,” the Decepticon Leader sighed, lightly squeezing his younger lover’s aft.

“ _Yeah_. Yeah, I know. But………. _ugh_ , we do need to know and no one else is going to look for it………” the flame-colored mech sighed. “I _couldn’t_ go back to Cybertron in this state, Magnus would have no idea how to handle me. Sorry for making you do it, my Emperor.”

“Nonsense. I do not like you stressing, but I certainly do not mind some fighting and………..perhaps some playing shortly in the berth, _mmmm_?” Galvatron chuckled softly, lightly patting his lover’s aft.

“Who says I need a berth right now, my lord?” Rodimus Prime responded, grinning excitedly. “I would like some rope—and there’s a really sturdy rock right over there……….” he added, making a nod over to the right from where they were laying.

Galvatron grinned excitedly, rolling them over and pinning his lover and eternal rival to the dusty ground, clouds flaring out from beneath their frames as they moved. He leaned in and kissed Rodimus Prime fiercely, then licked and nibbled on neck-cabling, reveling in the excited moans erupting from the younger mech’s vocalizer.

They _eventually_ made it over to the rock and engaged some enjoyable bondage play and interfacing, before finally returning to Chaar, cleaning up, and continuing more energetic interfacing in Galvatron’s luxurious berth through the remainder of the night.

Galvatron never asked what Rodimus Prime had learned that had riled him up so much, but he likely would’ve cared less about the details anyways. All he knew is that he was able to bring his rival and lover’s mood back to normal, enjoying himself while doing so.

**Author's Note:**

> If you remember in the "Five Faces of Darkness" there was a Quintesson shown as one of the "elders" in the Matrix that spoke about the history of Cybertron. As I craft this A.U. of season 3/4, I'm trying to draw a lot of those odd and strange elements from season 3 episodes together to make things make sense. So, yep, I'm calling that Quintesson as the one who tried to save Cybertron from his evil-worshipping twin. :)


End file.
